press play
by onecupoftae
Summary: There are five cassettes hidden in a cardboard box in his attic, the film all pulled out and tangled together. On the back, in too-familiar handwriting, it reads: For Jimin.


**Summary:** There are five cassettes hidden in a cardboard box in his attic, the film all pulled out and tangled together. On the back, in too-familiar handwriting, it reads: _For Jimin. _— Yoonmin.

**A/N:** Written for Rewind: A BTS Retro Zine!

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Press Play

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Summer arrives in full force at the end of June, bringing a thick layer of humidity along with it that threatens to suffocate Jimin's lungs.

Even indoors, he can feel the harsh rays of sunlight penetrating through the windows, effectively boiling his body. He's tried to cool down as much as he can, dressed in only a loose tank top and shorts, but the air conditioning broke in his house not too long ago and there's no breeze today to help with the scorching heat. All he wants to do is lie down underneath their ceiling fan until dinnertime before he has to peel his body off the floor.

His mother has other plans for him. Shoving a handful of cleaning supplies into his arms, she pushes him up the stairs with instructions to clean out the attic. He begrudgingly drags himself up the steps to the old, abandoned room that no one in his family has used for years.

Ducking under the frame above him, Jimin notices cobwebs lining the walls and a thick layer of dust covering every surface. There are cardboard boxes scattered all around the room, filled with lost photo albums and childhood toys and other things that would take him ages to sort out. At this point, they should probably just get rid of them, but his mom always says they're _antiques_ and will be worth something in the future. Right now, though, they're just a waste of Jimin's free labour.

He moves to kneel beside a small table, spraying it with a generous amount of cleaning solution before wiping at it furiously with the cloth in his hands. It's stuffy in here, and his hair sticks to his forehead due to how much he's sweating. He's only been inside the attic for a short while, but he thinks that he feels his head getting dizzy already.

"What are you doing?"

The voice makes Jimin jump, banging his arm on one of the boxes behind him. Glancing up, he sees Taehyung peeking in from the entrance of the attic, skateboard tucked underneath his arm and hair falling just past his ears in that awkward length of trying to grow it out.

Narrowing his eyes suspiciously, Jimin asks, "How did you get here?"

"I knocked on the front door," Taehyung says simply, and Jimin's not surprised at all. It's far from the first time that he's come over, invited or uninvited. "Just wanted to ask if you were free to go out but I see your mom put you to work."

Jimin sighs dramatically, gesturing at the mess in his attic. "I'm a slave in my own house." Then, because he wants some company and Taehyung happens to be here already, he asks, "Want to help me clean?"

Taehyung gives him a displeased look but eventually walks further inside to join Jimin on the floor. He sets his skateboard down and opens the lid of one of the boxes at random, coughing as dust disperses into the air.

"Wow, cassettes," he exclaims, grabbing one from the pile. There are about five of them in total, but it's hard to tell with the film all pulled out and tangled together.

Flipping it over, he notices a piece of tape on it with writing that reads: _For Jimin._

"Hey," Taehyung calls out, holding up the item for Jimin to see. "You recognize this?"

Frowning, Jimin takes the cassette and examines it. He's pretty sure that he's never seen it before, just two rolls of film enclosed in a plastic container. Nothing special, really. And yet—when his eyes land on the text in familiar handwriting, his heart aches with past memories that he's tried hard to bury. When he runs a finger tentatively over the words, he _knows_.

Taehyung watches him intensely, sensing a change in his reaction. "Who's it from?"

The single name on the cassette is Jimin's but he knows without question that there is only one person who would create something like this and dedicate it to him.

"Yoongi."

.

It's been almost a year since their breakup, ten months and seven days—he's _not_ counting—and yet, he still remembers the last time he spoke to Min Yoongi so vividly he could relive that day at any moment.

They meet on top of a hill at their local park, under a large tree that Jimin has come to think of as _their spot_. He hands Yoongi a backpack with all of his clothes and magazines, and wonders, not for the first time, if he'll ever get used to seeing the empty spaces in his room where all of Yoong's things used to occupy.

Yoongi accepts the bag with an unreadable expression on his face, muttering, "Thanks."

For a few minutes, neither of them move. They look out at the buildings below as a warm breeze blows by and Jimin tries to conceptualize all that he's feeling in the moment. Heartbreak is a symphony—of tears, of memories, of regrets. Of jagged words that hurt more than heal and two people trying to spend eternity in one final day.

Jimin tells himself to be brave.

"Hyung," he starts, voice wavering just the slightest, "it's getting late now."

Yoongi makes a sound of agreement. "It is."

"Can I get a hug before we go?" And maybe it's selfish, but he wants to be as close to Yoongi as possible, one last time.

They come together easily, like they've done many times in the past. Their bodies remember each other's embrace, arms wrapped around and heads touching. Jimin never wants to let go.

When they step back, there are tears in both of their eyes.

"Thank you, Jimin." Yoongi smiles. This time, it sounds a lot like _goodbye._

"See you later, hyung," he says, but the words are hollow. Empty.

There is no _later_ for them anymore.

.

Curiosity eventually gets the best of him.

Jimin knows that he should move on, that Yoongi is a chapter in his life that has ended and passed, but the cassettes are just sitting there in his attic, waiting to be played. If there's one thing he's confident about, it's that Yoongi has always been a composer at heart, with rap lyrics threatening to spill at any moment from the space between his lips and music thrumming passionately within his soul. He has secrets to share with the world, and it's only a matter of whether the world is ready to listen.

Whether _Jimin_ is ready to listen.

Right now, seeing Yoongi's handwriting scrawled on the tapes in permanent marker, distinct and heartachingly familiar, it all comes rushing back to him. It makes him _curious_, in a self-destructive way.

Something must show on his face because in that moment, Taehyung moves with determination. He gets comfortable on the dusty attic floor and flips over the cardboard box completely to dump out all the cassettes. "Come on, Jiminie, let's start untangling these."

He stares at Taehyung, then glances down at the pile of scrambled tapes. "Untangle them? That could take… hours."

But Taehyung, having already started smoothing out the film, only gestures at him to help. "Then we better work fast, right?"

The sunlight beams down on them through the window of the attic, tiptoeing along the wooden floor, and it makes Jimin feel a warmth that touches his very soul. He's lucky, he realizes, to be able to feel loved despite the heartbreak threatening to tear him apart.

Picking up a cassette for himself, the two of them work in comfortable silence. By the time they're done sorting through everything, the sun has begun to set and the skies have turned dark.

.

He remembers the first few days after the breakup as three things: locked bedroom doors, uncontrollable floods of memories associated with Yoongi, and gut-wrenching sobs screamed into his pillow to muffle the sound. Every time he calmed down enough to steady his breathing, he would taste the tragedy on his tongue knowing that someone who had once loved him chose to leave him forever, and the cycle would continue.

That had been ten months ago. In recent weeks, he's gotten better at controlling his emotions and forcing the tears away on days he feels particularly vulnerable. Now, though—now, he doesn't even realize that he's crying until something wet lands on the cassette tape in his hands.

"Jimin," he hears Taehyung whisper, words too kind to be directed at someone like him. It's cruel, but he just continues to fumble with the cassette, refusing to look up and instead pretending that he doesn't feel Taehyung's concerned gaze burning into him. Pretending that he doesn't notice his own tears spilling out of his eyes.

He wonders if Taehyung is looking at him and thinking, _pathetic_.

But Taehyung is sunshine and fresh air and summertime distilled into a person. He leans across to clasp Jimin's hand in his own and says, "Yoongi loved you, you know that."

Jimin almost lets out a bitter laugh. That's the problem, isn't it? _Loved. _Past tense. But the aching he feels in his heart is very much in the present.

And sure, Yoongi loved him, but Yoongi also had secrets. Maybe this was something Yoongi never wanted him to know, so he hid it in rolls of film, a sealed container, an abandoned room.

Instead of responding to Taehyung's comment, he stands up abruptly and wipes at his eyes before throwing all the tapes back into the cardboard box. "I need to find a cassette player."

Taehyung's gaze follows him as he walks toward the stairs. "Namjoon probably has one somewhere. Want me to come with you?"

"—No." Jimin pauses, tightening his grip on the box in his hands. "But thanks."

.

The walk to Namjoon's house is fairly short—too short for Jimin's heart racing in his chest. He's not ready to hear what Yoongi had recorded on the cassettes, doesn't think that he ever will be truly ready, but he knows that not listening to them would only make him feel worse.

He sighs. God, he's supposed to have moved on already.

Raising his head, Jimin forces himself to look forward. The scenery today is really beautiful, full of shifting colours in the sky with dark hues and dim lighting as daytime transitions into night. He passes by flashing neon signs hanging outside of small diners and letters written in graffiti on brick walls and he wishes, more than anything, that he was in the mood to fully appreciate it all.

Arriving at Namjoon's place, he knocks three times in quick succession before he has the chance to hesitate.

"Jimin," Namjoon greets him when he opens the door, blinking. There's evident confusion in his eyes but he steps aside to invite him in regardless. "What are you doing here?"

And Jimin can't exactly blame him for being surprised—Namjoon has always been more of Yoongi's friend. After the breakup, they haven't seen each other much, and Jimin takes part of the blame for not keeping in touch. Despite everything, he appreciates the kindness Namjoon has shown him.

"I was wondering if I could borrow your cassette player," he says, forcing his voice to come out even. He's _not_ going to cry again, not before he's even listened to the tapes. Not yet.

"You have cassettes?"

"They're—" _not mine, _he wants to say. But they are, technically, because they have his name on them. He swallows. "—from Yoongi."

Namjoon's eyes widen. "Oh." He shuffles awkwardly, closing the door behind Jimin and leading him further into the house where the stairs are located. "That's—um. The cassette player is in the basement. I'll lead you there."

Jimin trails after Namjoon, thankful that he doesn't ask any other questions as they walk into one of the rooms in the basement, cluttered with half-filled notebooks and recording equipment. Namjoon clears some space to bring out the cassette player and leaves soon after, hand patting his shoulder. "Take as long as you need."

The air is cooler here, underground, and Jimin sets down the box of cassettes to relieve his arms of the strain. He tries to tell himself to calm down as much as he can but it's an impossible task when he's about to face Yoongi all over again. It's—scary, he admits. Nerve-wrecking.

He inhales.

Taking a seat in front of the desk, Jimin inserts the first tape into the slot. His finger hovers over the button.

With a final bout of courage, he pushes down and presses _PLAY._


End file.
